Beloved
by Seinaru Kibou no Tenshi
Summary: Years after one of her best friends dies, Hikari regrets that she never had the chance to tell him how she *really* felt about him. (PG-13 for a little violence)


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This is the sort of 'fic that probably should have stayed on my hard-drive, because it was written for cathartic purposes. It's nothing as tragic or traumatic as the loss of a friend or a family member, fortunately, but one of my dearest, sweetest pets was killed rather brutally today and I needed to write to get it out my system. Characters belong to Toei. I'm making not a Digidollar off of this. 

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BELOVED

Carefully laying her bouquet of flowers on the ground and saying a quick prayer to Kami-Sama, Hikari rocked back onto her knees and stared at the grave-marker. Hers was not the first one there. Flowers covered the ground around the stone, until the plot looked more like a spring-garden than the grave. They had all sent flowers, just as they always did and always would. She recognised Yamato's hand-writing on a sheaf of lilies, and Mimi's on a bunch of pink carnations. If nothing else, he had been loved by all of them. He had died as he had lived, beloved.

She reached out a hand to caress the grave-marker, tracing the kanji that made up the inscription. _Musuko. Ototo. Tomodachi._ Son. Brother. Friend. Apart from that little roughness, the marble was as smooth and cold as bone against her hand. 

"I'm so, so sorry," she said, "I'm sorry that I only realised how much you meant to me, what you really were to me, when I had lost you. I'm sorry I never told that . . . that . . . . I wish I had been able to tell you. I wish I had. . . ." 

"I knew I'd find you here," her husband's familiar, deep voice said from behind her, "Are you all right, Hikari-chan?" 

"No. I'm not. He should still be here with us," she whispered, angry tears coming to her eyes and blurring the inscription on the stone, "But, no, I had to show mercy. Idiot. If I'd killed Demidevimon when I had the chance, he would still be here."

As she spoke, it seemed as if she were back in the moment. The battle over, the evil Digimon had been lying on the floor - a pathetic, crumpled ball of feathers and fur. 

"Should I finish it, Hikari?" Angewomon had asked in her warm, musical voice. 

She had made the mistake of feeling sorry for him. He had looked so pitiful, though, like a bedraggled fledgling that had fallen from the nest. He had been gasping for air, his fur dark and wet with blood, his feathers snapped and broken. She had known would not have been right to kill him - there was no honour in destroying a defeated enemy - so she had shaken her head. With a puzzled shrug, Angewoman had reverted back to her adult form. The other Digimon had followed her lead.

"Now, Demidevimon," she had stepped forward to stand above him, "Return the D-Terminal you stole from Iori."

"Never!" 

Demidevimon's face had suddenly grown cunning and he had lunged at her. Tailmon had leapt for him, claws unsheathed and fangs bared, but she had missed him. The other Digimon's missiles had also gone wide of the mark. Hikari had stumbled backwards, seeing her own pale, frightened face reflected in his eyes. Her ankle had caught a stone, and she had fallen onto her backside with a painful thump. Still, Demidevimon had continued to bear down on her and she had scrabbled backwards in a desperate attempt to evade him. One of the boys had shouted something in an angry voice - his words had been a confused jumble of sounds to her - then had leapt in the Digimon's path. There had been a sickening crunch as they collided, then a scream that seemed to have no end. Red warmth had spattered her face. . . .

She squeezed her eyes shut against the image. 

"It's my fault. You know it is." 

He did not reply in words, but he bent down beside her and placed a warm, solid hand on her shoulder. Weeping openly now, she buried her face in his jacket. It smelt of clean soap and cologne - a scent as familiar and as comforting as home. He stroked her back, trying to soothe her. 

When her tears had died away to hiccuping sobs, he said gently: "Even if he had known what would happen to him, he wouldn't have let you make any other choice. He loved you, Hikari-chan. He would have wanted you to remain true to your own good and kind heart. And he would have _hoped_ you could forgive yourself." 

"You don't know that," her voice was muffled by the jacket, "You can't."

Putting his hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face up to his, and she could see that there were tears in his eyes as well. The dark suit he was wearing made them seem more brilliant and more blue than ever. 

A serious expression on his face, he replied: "Yes, I do. Because I knew Motomiya Daisuke." 

"Do you think he knew he was one of my best friends, Takeru-chan?"

Smiling faintly at her, "Of course he did." 

"He didn't think I hated him?"

"Of course not." 

For a long time after that, no more words were spoken between them. They stood and kept faith, while shadows lengthened across the graveyard and the sky turned red. They remembered the boy, who had been beloved by all of them. They remembered his courage, his loyalty, his good heart, and they forgot all his flaws. Then, her arm around Takeru's waist, his arm around her shoulder, Hikari turned back to the grave-marker and read the words that were engraved on it: 

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Motomiya Daisuke 

1988-2002

Son. Brother. . . .

She paused, blinking away the fresh tears that came to her eyes at the last character on the marker. 

"Friend."

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end

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Language notes: 

1. "Musuko. Ototo. Tomodachi" obviously means "Son. (Little) Brother. Friend."

2. I can't imagine Hikari ever calling Takeru by the more formal "goshujin" or "goshujin-sama", which would translate to something like "honoured husband". Similarly, "omae" for wife is old-fashioned. Besides, from what I have read, people, who have grown up together, may continue to use the "-chan" suffix into adulthood. 


End file.
